There are two houses on the farm. One of them is rented by a family of ghosts. I lived here when they first moved in, and for two years after that, but all I know of them is that he walks with a slight limp and doesn’t work and she teaches martial arts in the evenings. They are rarely seen, never heard, and they have three children that do not wander outside often, even during the bluest days of summer.
They have a Rottweiler that howls from a snow-filled kennel. His howls are like plaintive, pain-filled screams, and sometimes they last for more than an hour. The couple used to breed dogs for money, but quit that hobby a few years ago. Max used to have a mate, but they sold her. I don’t know why they kept Max. Possibly because having little human interaction he is not very sociable. His eyes are wary, full of the kind of misery that comes from having to live an unnatural, isolated life. He has nothing to look forward to except a daily delivery of food and water.
I fill my pockets with biscuits and roast beef and stand in snow up to my knees. Max greets me from a distance, and only edges closer when I hold out a treat. He takes it from me gently, but when I reach through the bars to pet his head he backs away. In ten minutes, my pockets are empty, and Max slowly walks back to the corner where he usually lays.
Sadness washes over me as I make my way back up the hill. Max won’t be rescued. He is not considered abused by those who make such determinations. The couple doesn’t consider Max part of their family or worthy of more than the cage and food they provide him, but they won’t give him up because one day they might decide to use him for breeding again.
If Max is ever rescued, he may have fears that are deep. He may never be a normal dog, or a very social one, but it’s likely he’d come to be loyal and trusting of the people who rescued him. In the cage where he has spent most of his life, I don’t think Max feels resentful of other dogs in the main farmhouse that are lounging inside, on soft sofas, with warm laps and hands to visit. He howls not because he is angry or jealous, but because on some primitive level he wants to be heard. He is not crying for sympathy, but for connection – for some sense of family and belonging.
It’s cold outside. A thick layer of ice covers the winding gravel driveway, and the sliver of sun in the cloudy sky is fading fast. I feel defeated in the way I do whenever the better part of my nature desires to do something heroic, or at least something that makes a difference, but I have no real way or means. Part of me, a large part, just wants to open the gate and take Max, but besides the fact that it’s illegal, and there’s no place for him to go, I don’t know if his fear would lead him to attack.
Later in the night, I hear Max’s howl cut through the bone-chilling air.
From the warmth of their home, I know the couple hears the same howl I do. I think they must hear it differently — I know it makes us feel different things.
My messy heart bursts. I know it will do no good; I have no hope to offer Max. It is this sense of futility, of powerlessness, that swells the dam.
When my eyes are dry, I go online. A beautiful five day-old baby has died; another baby thrives against all odds. Family issues tear one man apart while another is lightened by support. Someone rails in resentment; another overflows with joy.
We are all howling in some way.
In a world of words and stories, the howls especially resonate. Some call out for connection, opportunity, empathy, and encouragement. Others strike out or berate sideways in anger, indignation, bitterness, and judgment.
Some feel the howls of others and respond. Others ignore them, or see them as a sign of weakness — something to be detested in an age of self-sufficiency. Sometimes we are heard, sometimes we are reprimanded, and sometimes we are soothed.
We are all here, reaching out, waiting and listening, spilling forth or receding. It’s the bounty of choice that comes from being human, and it’s the choices we make that speak to our humanity.
I cannot save one dog. That, too, is part of the human equation: To know that we are often powerless in the face of other people’s choices, and unlikely to change their minds or their hearts.
I feel a little smaller today, in an all-too human way.
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This piece viescerally conveys the feelings of helplessness that inevitably engulf each of us at some time in our lives. We all howl, and we know others hear it. Our best hope, our saving grace, is to respond to another’s cry when we are able. Well done, Jane.
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Oh you …
That is incredibly powerful.
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Oh Jane, poor Max and all the helpless animals in his situation. How can they do it?
Jane, thank you for your so-eloquent-it-hurts expression of the helplessness one feels in so many situations. You have a wonderful, awesome/aw(e)ful gift for going straight to the hearts of your readers. Thank you.
This took my breath away. You captured the way we all feel, man and beast, at some point in our lives.
I choose to believe that Max knows he is more than just a kennel dog, if only to you, through your small acts of kindness. He may never know the love of a warm lap or the feel of a hand petting him softly, but he knows kindness….thanks to you.
Hallie
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Heartbreaking, Jane. We rescued a dog in a similar situation–and now she’s the luckiest. I want to take Max away from there. We can feel your helplessness through your writing. Very powerful.
When I was a very little girl my grandparent’s house was my refuge. Things were frequently wonky at home, but I could always find a groove at Thelma & Ed’s. The garden, the three season room, all the warm blankets tucked neatly in the hall closet. Feelings of home and comfort. In the backyard, my grandparents had a huge dog pen and a dog house, and Dutchy, part German Shepard and part Lab (I think), lived there … alone. She was a lovely dog, once part of the family, then banished to the backyard when my grandmother built the house she always wanted. We’d go the fence and Dutchy would kiss our hands so eagerly. She was very lonely. It wasn’t until later that I realized how unnatural it was for her to be alone.
Our dogs now live a life of indulged luxury, and they’re so close to us because of it. I still think of Dutchy now and again. She never howled, but I still don’t understand how my grandparents, who were good people, could leave her out there.
Ah well.
D~
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When my son was a baby, he had surgery and then complications that led to a long stay in an urban hospital. The only thing worse than having my year-old child be so ill and confined to a stainless steel crib was the endless sound of all the other crying children on the hall. At night the nurses would administer doses of Benadryl to most of the patients and turn on the TVs to lull them to sleep. Around 5 a.m. the crying would rise like a tide as the doctors made their early morning rounds. I was fortunate enough to be able to stay with my son 24/7, but very few children had that luxury. Some were only visited on the weekends. Some seemed to never be visited. Some keened from their beds, hollering “mama!” over and over. I wanted desperately to be able to visit the other patients, to hold the babies, to interact with them, but I wasn’t permitted to do so. It made my whole being ache and broke my heart.
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I think there are many of us feeling the same way about the injustices we see around us. It hurts and it’s so unnecessary.
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We rescued our dog from someone who had gotten herself into legal trouble and then abandoned her. After several months in our home (and having to have medical issues resolved), my dog’s previous owner got out of prison and then somehow found my address. She then came to my home and demanded to take our dog away from us. I stood my ground and would not budge. To this day I am proud and grateful that I our sweet Lily does not have to live in filth and fleas, with no water or food for weeks on end, and streaming with intestinal worms that had never been addressed. She is a healthy dog and a member of our family.
And what Jeanne said.
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Ok Jane. You know this one touched me deeply. Used to I ran for cover when I began to experience these feelings.
Now I have learned that through feeling compassion and letting it flow from me I am connected to the howling dogs with no love, the homeless people that sleep on the streets and the baby that dies from abuse. We are ALL connected. No one is set apart from others.
Sometimes, sending the compassion we have(and all share) out to the Universe is all we can do. And that is good. That is our life connection.
love and hugs to you~
LJ
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I love this.
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Such a tragic story.
My mother is a dog-loving former mail carrier. (a contradiction, no?) She’d see similar happenings along her mail route over the years and one day she decided it was enough. She began carrying food and anything that would make the animals comfortable along with her in her mail truck. A bag of food for those who didn’t eat enough. Blankets for those who were lying on cold stone or concrete at the end of a chain in the winter.
Sometimes she took a dog off the chain it lived on for years, or out of the cage it never left, and took it home with her. Sometimes with permission, at least once without permission. That family never questioned what happened to the animal, but it lived the rest of its life inside, comfortable, loved and warm in my mother’s house. It was against the law I know, but the family never even acknowledged that the dog was gone. It was like they never even noticed or missed her.
Maybe you could offer to take Max for a walk once a day? Or if he comes to trust you, offer to dog-sit him a couple times a week. After all, if you are close enough to hear him then he wouldn’t be too far out of their sight and they’d know where he was. Just do what you can and what you’re led to do in your heart. That’s all any of us can do. Every little bit helps.
Excrutiating and deeply moving. I may have said this to you before – and I don’t mean it to sound cruel – but when you are this raw, your writing is at its best. Every time you dredge up the muck that most people run from in terror tends to be another moment in your finest hour.
I feel strongly about animals, too, but I think this is about something much more for you. It’s reminiscent of things most would have buried or denied, or handled in some other unhealthy, unproductive way.
I stand in awe of your ability to get the toxins out. You turn it into something beautiful. How many people can say that?
Wow. Damn. Wow. I won’t be able to let go of this one for a while.
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Boy, this one hurt. There are so many stories of suffering, sometimes through active abuse, sometimes through passive neglect, that it’s hard not to crawl under the farthest corner of one’s bed and never leave. They say that the art of life is to be able to compassionately respond to all the suffering in the world, while still dancing with joy at all the love and beauty. This story, and all the responses it’s garnered, is helping me to see how that’s possible. All these examples of people who have helped relieve the suffering just makes me proud and happy to be human. Thank you, to Jane, for writing this story, but also for participating in lessening the suffering of a helpless innocent. And, thank you to the all the people out there who also stepped up to the plate and did what they could to ease the pain of another. What a testament to the forces of compassion! Life would be unbearable if not for that.
I kept thinking .. bolt cutter! Some people shouldn’t be allowed to have children, or dogs, if they treat them like this.
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Even before I’ve finished reading this heart-wrenching story, I am anxious to read what your savvy, smart, compassionate readers have to say. As always, they are just as interesting and moving as I expected. To you Jane, I ask for the universe’s positive energy. I hope you find some kind of answer as to how to handle and hopefully help this dog and all innocent creatures and when you do, I hope you share that with us!
A big heartfelt hug to you my friend,
Imelda
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What a great piece – very emotional – Do you by chance have any info on how we could contact those awful owners? – there are many Rotty rescue groups that would take Max – they can work wonders – he may have a chance at a better life! I am more than willing to try!
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This piece hits so many places deep within me. I want to race home and embrace my dog and my daughter right now. I also want to contact my friends who have worked with Animal Cops to find out what can be done to rescue this animal.
I hear the howls too, most recently of a formerly homeless mom who’s trying to do the right things, but is (in her words) “in the midst of a meteor storm.” And she’s not exaggerating.
It is so frustrating to hear the painful cries around us, to feel powerless, and yet know that taking a fetal position in a dark corner is not an option. Lean into the wind, to the howls, and see where it takes you. Easy for me to say–NOT!
Feeling the pain you so poignantly share gives me strength to go forth and do what I have to do. You are a true roadie soul sister!
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I almost stopped reading this particular blog because it made me so uncomfortable and angry. Rather selfish of those who would hang on to an animal for possible monitary gain and as you said to some it isn’t abuse, I think those of us with hearts see it is. I believe there is a place or a cage in hell for those who treat animals (or people too) this way and a place in heaven for those who suffered at their hands. I screamed out my front door at a woman walking her dog the other day. She was walking this little guy who was obviously excited about his walk. He was jumping a little, trying to run ahead of her. She stopped and kicked him a few times, then lifted him off the ground by his leash and collar. I yelled to her that she didn’t need to treat her dog that way and if I saw her kick it or hurt it again in front of my house, I’d film her and report her to the dog officers. With that, she took up a jogging stride and ran up my street. If nothing else, she knows people are watching. Continued safe travels for you, looking forward to your next blog.
Raw and beautiful…you write so eloquently about things so gnarlingly human. Max is every single one of us. You’re so right, we are all howling in some way. And because we’re human, we have the will (if we choose to be willing) to turn howling into words that reach deep inside. Thank you again for sharing your gift with us, Jane.
Why don’t you call animal control?
I skimmed this the day you posted, and had to toggle away quickly before my heart shattered into a million more pieces than the several dozen caused by the skim. After two days I finally had the guts to come back and comment.
The surface story of Max immediately resonated with me, as all our household animal friends have been rescues of one sort or another. There are so many “Max’s” out there, so many people who are abusive to their pets. It is unacceptable, and I do what I can.
Using Max’s plight as an illustration of how we are all howling was incredibly powerful. I would posit that most of us follow the routines of our daily lives in blinders, not seeing the pain OR the beauty around us; not hearing the howl or realizing we are ourselves howling. And we wonder why we are unhappy or unsatisfied, feeling a general malaise about life.
I hope you didn’t feel small for long. Just recognizing the howling makes you large in life, and you brought it full circle in touching the deep emotions of your readers. And we appreciate it.
Gosh Jane, this story has me all shook-up. We rescued our dog and this is a good reminder of how important it is to think about rescuing a pet.
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Jane, you amaze me time and again! Not only are you able to get inside the heads of human beings but, definitely also inside the head of animals, in this case a poor, lonely dog. I absolutely cry for him!
I have come back to this piece, time and again, hoping that you would have posted a new one, because this one just really haunts me, and I was ambivalent about commenting on this particular article! I am a breeder! Yes, one of those that are so often looked down on and judged. Many times rightly so, but very often wrongly, just for the fact that they are dog breeders! People don’t stop to find out the story behind that particular person. As for myself, I have been an American Eskimo Breeder for 15 years now, and I live for my dogs. They really are my life! Like my husband keeps telling me, “our life has gone to the dogs”! But as so often happens, over the years we end up with dogs that for various reasons have not gone to “their forever loving homes”, and we now have far too many dogs, that are kennel dogs, not as lonely as the poor guy that you write about, they have their other kennel mates and they do have contact with us and our workers a couple of times a day, but that is just not enough, and I have been dealing with this very issue for some time now! How do I find those loving, understanding homes for my beautiful Eskies!! That is my cry! And that is such a sad fact in today’s society, people are so ready to make all kinds of comments and judgements, not knowing what the real story is behind that particular situation, at least in my view, but when it comes down to actually doing something about it, like taking in one of these beautiful dogs into their lives, then they come up with many excuses. Let me hasten to add that I am not one of those breeders that breeds puppies to make money. I have never yet made money on my Eskies, I like to think of myself as a reputable, responsible breeder and know my Vets would agree. Goodness knows, I bring them enough money!
Jane, I have a great idea. I know you don’t particularly care for those Minnesota winters, but how about coming up to our place here in southern Manitoba, and spend some time with us and our gorgeous dogs. I would love to have you. That is, if you could handle being in a house together with a number of dogs for a couple of days !
Just a thought, to lighten the mood!
Beautiful. Your words stick with me long after the reading.
I cannot help Max. However I can tell a story about a dog in the same shape whose life was changed. My son saw a dog in similar circumstances. His heart went out to the dog who was missing a leg and was almost completely deaf. He probably had been hit by a car. The dog was kept in a small pen and was only fed and watered once a day. HIs only companion was a rat who came and ate from his food dish. The dog welcomed the rat with a wagging tail. My son finally begged for the dog and took him home. They named him Tripod and there he lived out his days with the two little children and a nice soft place on the rug. Let us all collectively wish for the same thing to happen to Max.
Your writing has really moved me. This is a powerful piece in so many ways. Wow.